The room smelled like wet clothes and metal, like old blood that hadn't quite washed off. A group sat around a dusty table in the center, all of them tired, leaning into their elbows or sitting with their backs slouched against the cracked walls.
Kris stood, arms crossed, listening as one of the scouts finished speaking.
"We checked the entire block. Shelves stripped. Fridges were broken, with food left to rot. Nothing left," a man muttered, scratching at a peeling scab on his neck.
Kris exhaled slowly through his nose. His eyes moved to the others—some nodded quietly, others just looked down.
A woman with her hair tied in a tight bun added, "There are still some places near the mall, but…" She trailed off, not needing to finish.
"Anything edible in the North forest? Wild fruits or something?" Kris asked, voice low.
One of the younger men, probably barely out of his teens, perked up slightly. "No. It was totally empty too. I only found two or three pitiful berries in it."
The young man seemed angry for a moment, then frowned. "It is so unfair. Those aspectless emptied everything when we were gone," he muttered under his breath.
Kris's expression turned grim upon hearing this, and he wanted to say something, but couldn't really argue.
Someone muttered, "If only the last days of the selection weren't so damn chaotic, we could've stocked up before coming back on Earth. We barely had time to grab water, let alone food…"
That shut everyone up. The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was heavy. Every person in the room thought about someone they lost. At least two-thirds of their group had been decimated either by the dark cloud following them or those creatures...
Kris ran a hand down his face. "Alright. We'll form another team tomorrow. Short range. We'll go scavenge toward South."
"Again?" someone said. "We need more rest."
"We'll manage. It is either this or we starve," Kris said. He then looked around and paused, as if he were hesitating for a moment.
"In the worst case… If we find someone willing, we can buy food from them. But I'll need help. If everyone can give a few coins—"
"Hell no."
The voice came from the corner. A man with a rough voice, raspy like sandpaper. He stood slowly, tugging at the strap holding his cloak. His right sleeve was empty, pinned closed, and a handmade eyepatch covered one eye. The rest of his face looked like it had gone through gravel.
"You want my coins?" he asked, voice sharp. "I lost a damn eye for those. Nearly bled out by losing my right arm, and you just want me to give my coins? The coins I risked my life for?"
Kris looked at him calmly. "Leo...I'm not forcing anyone. I'm asking."
Leo scoffed and leaned his good arm on the wall. "You're asking me to starve. I say we take what we need."
A few heads turned, curious. Kris's jaw clenched.
"There are people out there with food," Leo went on. "You saw them. I saw them. They've got food and water. Some even had meat. They were probably too busy scavenging the city while we went through hell. They probably didn't earn a single coin. Meanwhile, we've got Aspects. We've got fighters. What's stopping us?"
"Honor?" Kris said. "Morality?"
That got a few uncomfortable shifts. No one laughed, but no one backed him up either.
The eyepatched Leo tilted his head. "Morality didn't feed the kids who bled out yesterday. Pity didn't helped us against those goddamn bats"
Upon hearing the word "bats," everyone at the table looked away, as if trying to forget harrowing memories. Somehow, this word seemed taboo.
"Listen, those people were living the life while we were risking ours. It is unfair for them to keep all the food while we starve," he continued.
Kris scanned the room, heart sinking. "So that's it?" he asked. "We're just gonna become bandits now?"
Leo didn't answer, but he didn't need to. From the way a few others nodded along or stayed quiet, it was clear some had already made up their minds.
Kris didn't say anything else. He just turned and walked out.
—
The hallway smelled worse than the meeting room. Old mildew, rot, and something metallic under it all. He pushed open the door to the room at the end of the hall and stepped inside.
Beds lined the walls—some proper, most makeshift. People lay in them, moaning softly or just breathing hard. Bandages were wrapped around their legs, arms, or heads. Some had fresh blood leaking through. Others just looked exhausted.
In the far corner, a tall old man kneeled beside a girl who looked no older than ten. Her foot was wrapped in what looked like a transparent bandage, but it shimmered faintly.
"Karnen," Kris said softly. "You should take a break. You haven't slept in days."
Karnen didn't turn around. He was focused on the girl, gently adjusting the glowing bandage around her ankle. His fingers moved like someone used to this—like he had done it a thousand times before.
"I've worked longer stretches in worse conditions," he said after a moment. His voice was worn but steady. "Once, we had 400 wounded in a tent. No electricity. No water. Just my hands and a Red Cross armband."
The girl's breathing slowed a little as he finished. Karnen gave her a nod and stood up with a soft grunt.
"This is what I do, Kris. I save people. I can't stop wars or violence, but I am limiting pointless death, even if it is tiring," he said as he watched Kris.
Kris nodded, though his eyes looked heavier than before. "Your Aspect… It's so magical."
Karnen flexed his fingers slightly. They shimmered for a second, faint like heat waves. "Seems like I was lucky enough to obtain Hands of Mercy. It creates bandages that heal pain and stop bleeding. Only superficial wounds, though. Sadly, it cannot do any miracles," he said, looking at his hands.
Kris didn't say anything. He just watched Karnen for a moment, then looked over the room—people were in pain, and some seemed tired of crying.
"But I can't feed them," Karnen added. "My hands can't do that. So what's the situation with food? Did you guys find anything? Some are starting to starve." Karnen asked with an almost hopeful tone.
Kris didn't answer right away. He just sat there momentarily, rubbing his hands together like he was trying to wake them up, before pulling a chair closer to one of the beds and sitting down.
"The others are planning to raid the other groups. They want to steal whatever they can find."
Kris looked up at him, frowning. "You didn't agree with them, did you?"
"No," Kris said. His voice was flat, like he was tired of saying it.
Karnen watched him for a second, then shook his head,
Kris leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "I wanted your advice. Leo's pushing hard for it. If we go along with him, it's just gonna turn into a mess."
Something small and flickering drifted by his shoulder. Kris followed it with his eyes.
Another wick.
They've been hanging around since they got back, always floating nearby. After trying to swat them for a few hours, people stopped bothering.
No one really knew what they were for—some guessed they were sentries from the Game, others thought they were just some decorations.
Ultimately, they were harmless and didn't have enough time or energy to waste on them, so they all collectively decided to ignore them.
Karnen scratched at his chin, thinking. "The girl I was treating earlier," he said after a moment. "She might help."
Kris glanced over. "How?"
"She told me her aspect lets her create edible fruits and vegetables from seeds."
Kris blinked, sitting up a little straighter. "She can create food?!" Kris asked, surprised. He still wasn't used to people having something as bizarre as aspects.
Although they were a group, there was an unspoken rule not to ask about each other's aspects. As the saying goes, there are no permanent allies, only permanent interests. Today's ally could be tomorrow's foe.
"Yes," Karnen said. "But it's not enough yet. A few fruits here and there. If she had more coins, she could get blessings to strengthen her ability. Maybe even feed everyone. Ultimately, everything is related to money."
Kris nodded slowly, thinking it over. "Then we need to gather everyone and give her our coins—"
Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of a door slamming shut echoed through the building.
"I'll be back," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet.
He left the room and followed the noise, his boots scuffing lightly against the cracked floor. It didn't take long to find the source.
Kris stopped in the doorway the second he saw the scene.
There was a man standing in the middle of the room, alone, holding a sword.
Everyone else was spread out around him, weapons raised, eyes wide, trying to make sense of what was happening. Some had axes gripped tight in both hands, others held scavenged spears or knives.
A few had their Aspects active—light shimmering faintly around their skin or twisting in the air near their palms.
But the man didn't seem bothered. He stood there, calm, eyes drifting over the group like he was counting heads or… looking for someone.
Wicks floated overhead, their soft orange glow flickering along the walls, observing everything.
No one moved for a moment.
Then the man started walking toward them. It wasn't fast. It wasn't rushed.
But the next step wasn't human.
One second, he was standing there. The next, he was in the middle of them.
Steel flashed—sharp, clean arcs of motion that Kris almost didn't see at first. A man near the front stumbled back, a streak of blood blooming across his chest before he could even shout.
Someone else tried to swing their club, but the man ducked under it, blade dragging across the attacker's thigh as he passed.
It was fast—too fast. There was no wind-up, no wasted motion. Just cold, practiced strikes.
Someone screamed.
Kris barely registered who it was.
People were activating their Aspects—chains snapping out of thin air toward the intruder, a burst of fire from someone's heel as they leaped forward—but it didn't matter.
The man weaved through everything like he'd done it a thousand times before. The chains shattered before reaching him. The fire barely grazed his shoulder before he buried his blade in the attacker's gut and shoved him aside like some sort of broken doll.
It was clean. Efficient.
Kris's stomach tightened. This wasn't just someone physically strong—this was someone experienced. Every movement felt deliberate, controlled, like the man was just… playing with them.
He moved like he knew exactly where everyone would be before they did.
Somehow, despite having an overwhelming number and various aspects... It felt unfair for them.
A man near the back shouted something and hurled a glowing orb—acid, by the smell of it—but the stranger just grabbed the nearest person and dragged them into the path of the attack.
The acid hit with a wet hiss, the poor bastard screaming as it ate through flesh, but the man didn't even slow down.
Kris watched as a few people broke first. Panic hit, and they ran for the exit, stumbling over each other in their rush to get away.
Those were the first ones cut down.
The man caught up to them easily, blade flashing in the dim light. A leg was taken out here, a tendon sliced there—quick, brutal strikes meant to cripple instead of kill.
Kris's fingers twitched toward his belt—then froze.
His weapon was still in the other room.
He hadn't even thought about it until now.
His heart pounded in his ears as he looked around the chaos. If he tried to get his weapon, he'd have to get past the man, past that thing. If he ran, he'd end up just like the others, bleeding out on the floor... or worse.
So he stayed where he was, half-hidden in the doorway, watching.
The fighting slowed—if it could even be called that.
People were injured. Some lay groaning on the floor, others pressed against walls, clutching at deep gashes or burned skin.
A few still held their weapons, but their grips were loose, eyes darting between each other like they were waiting for someone else to try something first.
The man stood in the center of it all, barely winded. Blood dripped from his sword in slow, heavy drops.
For a moment, the only sound was the labored breathing of those still conscious.
Then the man spoke, voice calm—almost casual.
"Coins or death."
Kris stared at him, throat dry.
It was only then that he noticed something—something that made his skin crawl.
No one was dead.
People were bleeding, injured—some horribly—but their vitals were intact. He hadn't gone for fatal blows. He could've killed them all without much effort, but he hadn't.
He'd held back. He had incapacitated everyone without dealing any fatal blow.
Kris swallowed, a cold weight settling in his stomach as the man's eyes moved lazily over the room again, like he was still searching for something.
This wasn't just a strong opponent.
This was something worse.
A monster wearing a human face.